


In too deep

by ToxicAvenger



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, M/M, Sheriarty - Freeform, jimlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4864796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicAvenger/pseuds/ToxicAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loss of control is not something Sherlock is accustomed to. But at the hands of Jim Moriarty up is down, and wrong is right. </p><p>Instead of ending one or both their lives on a sunny roof top, Sherlock and Jim has started a game of quite a different character.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In too deep

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the movst part all about the smut. With a touch of fluff.

Jim let his fingers run gently down Sherlock’s body, caressing his chest, travelling quickly down his abdomen, making a detour to tickle his belly, before focusing their attention on playing with his his soft hint of a happy trail. Sherlock relished the cool, light touch to his body, letting out a low moan and throwing his head back, exposing a delicate, long neck.  Jim looked at it longingly, torn between continuing his journey down Sherlock’s body and retreating back up to put his teeth to the tempting pale, sensitive skin of the other man’s neck.

As Jim hesitated, fingers stroking idly back and forth over Sherlock’s trembling abdomen, Sherlock became impatient beside him.

“Jim… Why are you… stopping?” Sherlock groaned, as he shifted his hips, trying to press against Jim’s hands to make him continue.

In spite of his increasingly vigorous movements, Sherlock knew perfectly well that the fate of his pleasure was well and truly in Jim’s hands for the time being, seeing as his wrists were securely tied together with the soft rope from his bathrobe, and attached to the head of the large bed. Sherlock vaguely recalled how he had not been able to resist the playful, yet burning look in Jim’s brown eyes a little while ago, when Jim had pulled the tie from the bathrobe, held it up and chuckled.

“What do you say to… upping the ante a bit, eh, Sherlock? Try something a little different this time? Do you _trust_ me?” he had crooned in his soft Irish lilt, eyes brimming with desire, teeth exposed in what Sherlock could best describe as a savage grin, the kind a predator would give his prey moments before going for the kill.

Nevertheless, Sherlock had not hesitated, knowing that the lurch he felt in his gut at the thought of putting himself so utterly in Jim’s power came from raw desire rather than fear. Relinquishing control was something he rarely felt comfortable with, but with Jim it was different. Jim had changed him somehow, he knew, had softened his need for constantly controlling his environment, and lessened the need to seek refuge in his mind palace to make sense of the world. Sherlock had just looked at the smaller man on the bed next to him, and with a grin of anticipation, had nodded his head slowly.

Sherlock was way beyond merely trusting Jim at this point. It was months ago that they had both come to the realization that the games they played; the crimes Jim set up, the puzzles he left for Sherlock to solve, the late night phone calls, e-mails and increasing number of texts between them, were all part of the intense, all-encompassing connection the two of them shared. A bond that spanned decades, and was deeper and more essential to their existence than any other human connection either of them had formed.

In fact, at this point Sherlock was convinced that there was not a single person in the whole world he could trust _more_ than Jim. It was like the criminal had said once in the midst of their games: “We were made for each other, Sherlock. Without me you are nothing.” They did belong together, one not able to exist without the other. The truth of this struck Sherlock once again, as he lay writhing with pleasure under the expert fingers of said criminal, in a bed in one of the most expensive hotels in London.

He got no answer from Jim as to why he had stopped, other than the smaller man’s laboured breathing next to him and the infuriatingly slow, soft stroking of fingers, mere inches above his erection now. A maddening tingling sensation running through his body, Sherlock tried again:

“Jim, please… Aaah, I’m… I need to… Oh god, please, Jim…” He trailed off, unable to form coherent sentences due to the lingering, slow torture of Jim’s fingers. Sherlock was not used to begging, not for anything, and impatiently tugged on the rope that held him in place. It was frustrating beyond limits feeling how securely tightened his hands were, but more surprisingly, it also fuelled his desire. Sherlock opened his eyes to see a smirk on Jim’s face; the man was clearly enjoying being in control, seeing the detective overcome by lust at his hands. However, there was no malice in his face, just an amused expression in those hooded eyes, half closed with sensual desire.

“Oh, come now, Sherl… You know I am the one calling the shots this time. And I just can’t decide what to do to you, darling. Hmmm…” Jim did not finish the sentence as the removed his hand, before repositioning himself so that he was straddling Sherlock, and slowly bent forward to start kissing his chest. No easy feat with Sherlock twisting and turning under him at the feel of the warm tongue on his already hot skin.

“Stay still, Sherlock, or I’ll have to restrain you further. You don’t want that, do you? Be good now, stay still and let me have my way with you.”

Hearing Jim talk to him this way, making vague threats in a voice sterner and deeper than his usual soft tones, all while Sherlock himself was unable to do anything other than lie back and take it, made the whole experience all the more arousing. The criminal exuded power and control at the moment, and it called up images in Sherlock’s mind of Jim at his desk, planning his crimes, or on the phone with his employees, barking orders as he ruled his vast criminal empire. Sherlock had always been fascinated by the criminal and his secret world. Thinking of it now made a shiver run down his spine, not only from desire, but also from a certain amount of trepidation directed at the man on top of him.

Sherlock groaned again, but tried to keep still as best he could, while Jim’s tongue traced zigzag patterns across his torso and chest, sending spikes of pleasure up and down his body. Sherlock sucked in a breath as he felt Jim’s teeth close around one of his nipples with a gentle tug. Soon his other nipple was in Jim’s warm mouth, and Sherlock yelped as Jim closed his teeth again, not quite as gentle this time. The initial sting of pain quickly subsided and turned into a pleasant burning sensation as he heard Jim groan softly against his skin, breathing rather heavily through his nose.

Jim finally reached his destination, and started trailing his mouth all along Sherlock’s neck, from the base of his throat up his jaw before a hot, wet tongue found his earlobe. His teeth grazed the delicate skin of Sherlock’s neck, nipping lightly, never in any danger of breaking the skin. They had agreed on no visible marks, and Jim dutifully respected their agreement, even though it was seriously tempting to bite down hard and draw blood. “Another time…" the criminal told himself.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut against the hot breath on his face and the sensations that assaulted him, his own breathing accelerating further in response, into what could now only be labelled downright panting. He knew he had no control over the reactions of his body anymore, he was like clay in Jim’s hands. He also knew that he did not care that he was so plainly showing Jim how he affected him, and felt no embarrassment by it. The understanding and intimacy between the two former nemeses had developed so rapidly over the past few months that is was rather unnerving, and Sherlock could not seem to get enough of Jim. A feeling he could definitely get used to, it occurred to him.

“Jim… Oh, fuck, that’s... God, Jim, I wan- …” Sherlock managed between gulps of air, but Jim cut him short.

“Did I say you could speak? Did I, Sherlock? I don’t particularly care what you want right now, so you just keep your pretty little mouth _shut_.” Jim teased with his stern, but no longer quite as steady voice, punctuating the words of his last order with passionate kisses on Sherlock’s neck.

Jim was relishing this newfound power imbalance, likely because it was out of character for the two of them. They were normally toe to toe, giving tit for tat, playing good and bad, detective and criminal, angel and demon, always balancing each other out. For this short while, in this setting, Jim enjoyed the fact that Sherlock was unable to do anything but accept whatever he decided the next move would be.

Of course, both men were fully aware that the current arrangement was entered into voluntarily, and that Jim would never do anything to betray the trust showed him by Sherlock, surrendering control to his former nemesis this way. Still, having Sherlock completely at his mercy really was an arousing spectre for the criminal to behold. His body stretched taut on the bed, hands and arms stretched over his head, tied to the bedpost, exposing the lean muscles of his upper arms and chest, now moving rapidly as Sherlock heaved for breath. His toned abdomen and narrow hips were in constant movement, his erection boldly making its presence known as he moved restlessly about. Eyes closed, body jittering in anticipation and response to the pleasure Jim was doling out at his own leisurely pace.

“But okay, since I'm in a good mood today, I’ll get to it. Put you out of you misery – or pleasure, as it were,” Jim giggled, and with a final kiss and a graze of teeth at Sherlock’s bottom lip, he shifted and made his way back down Sherlock’s body, retrieving the bottle of lube from the bed stand on his way.

As Jim marvelled at the sight of this beautiful man on the bed beneath him, his thoughts once again found their way to the unfathomable turn of events that had occurred on the roof of St. Bart’s hospital a few months earlier, that had eventually led them here, to this moment. It was beyond belief, too good to be true, Jim realized, too inconceivable to last. He pushed the sobering thought aside for the time being, making the most of the moment. He knew it was only a matter of time before he himself would be lost to the same desire that was now running through Sherlock’s body, rendering him an incoherent mess of a man.

 “How badly do you want it then, hmm? How _badly_ do you want _me_?” Jim teased in a singsong reminiscent of their meeting at the pool, as he just barely let his fingers lightly caress the tip of Sherlock’s hard cock. Jim took his time to really look at the man underneath him as he did, and what a remarkable sight it was. Sherlock was generously sized, and Jim remembered with a sting of heat the feeling of Sherlock inside of him, stretching him, hitting all the right spots. Jim shook his head, trying to clear his mind to focus on the task at hand, and made another ever so light, teasing swipe with his fingers just across the length of Sherlock.

Sherlock shivered at the touch, his breathing spiked again as he threw his head from side to side, straining against the ropes restraining him, not succeeding any more than earlier in moving.

“Oh god, you know I want it, Jim… Want you… Just please, aaaah fuck…” he stuttered, as Jim took mercy on him and wrapped his hand around Sherlock from base to tip, and started stroking slowly in an upward motion.

Jim enjoyed the teasing, watching the man beneath him writhe in pleasure, knowing this was all his doing. Jim’s own erection was pulsing noticeably and ever more insistently now, and he knew he would not be able to keep his cool much longer.

“Jim… God in heaven, have mercy… Jesus Christ, Christ… Oh god, Jim…” The words rushed from Sherlock’s lips, barely above a whisper, jumbled and hard to make out.

Jim smiled contently. “Though I do appreciate being likened to God, especially in bed, I must warn you not to take the Lord’s name in vain like that,” he breathed as he touched the tip of his tongue to Sherlock’s erection, “at least not until it’s really called for.”

As Sherlock registered the new sensation brought on by Jim’s tongue, a surprised cry escaped him, and his hips shot upwards instinctually. Only Jim’s anticipation of the movement hindered Sherlock from chocking the man. Jim shook his head and chuckled, amused at his lover’s overly enthusiastic reaction, still quite inexperienced when it came to matters of the body. After he stilled, Jim took all of Sherlock in his mouth, tightening his lips around his entire length, rendering the detective’s whispers even more undecipherable. He was able to catch his own name in the midst of it, he noted with no small amount of satisfaction, as he put his tongue and lips to skilful use on Sherlock, increasingly loud and restlessly moving beneath him.

Jim was starting to feel overwhelmed by the burning of desire himself now, knowing full well that Sherlock wouldn’t last long in his mouth. In a final act of pleasing Sherlock, Jim swallowed around his cock, constricting his throat as a muffled groan escaped him. He was immediately rewarded by a high-pitched moan, bordering on a scream from the man underneath him.

Jim’s self-control was now only a faint memory, and he reached for the lube placed coveniently next to him on the bed, preparing himself and Sherlock with trembling fingers. Sherlock was beyond reason, totally lost to his senses, and tilted his hips up eagerly, as Jim played at his entrance before carefully letting one finger slip inside. Oh, Sherlock was so tight; the realization was like a slap in the in the face every time for Jim. How easily he forgot that this ethereally beautiful man had indeed never been with a man before the first time they were together, and that Jim was the only one to have ever been inside Sherlock. The thought aroused Jim more than what was good for his upcoming performance, and as he added another finger, Jim tried to calm himself a bit, looking up into the face of his lover.

A pair of blue eyes met him, and right now there was fire in those usually icy blue eyes, they were consumed with a fire burning so bright and hot that Jim felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. Without breaking eye contact for a single moment, Jim extracted his fingers and moved to reposition himself between Sherlock’s thighs, panting with anticipation. Pushing them slightly wider, and putting a hand softly under Sherlock’s back to lift him into a better position, Jim carefully touched the tip of his cock against Sherlock’s entrance. Watching him breathe frantically, groaning in pleasure and anticipation, his arms still pulling on the restraints around his wrists, Jim’s gaze held Sherlock’s, wordlessly asking for permission before going any further.

Not that he really needed to, Sherlock’s body language and the obscene noises emanating from him said it all. Nevertheless, it was an act of respect that Jim knew he himself would appreciate, and an act that defined their entire relationship. Since the beginning, they had always found themselves at opposite sides of the spectrum, one a slightly skewed mirrored image of the other, sharing so many of the same traits. Even as rivals they had always respected each other, both drawn by the other’s mental capacity, which far surpassed that of ordinary people. Ordinary was boring, and this game they were still playing was anything but boring. In fact, it was the only thing keeping both of them afloat in an otherwise mind-numbingly dull world. Doing anything that was not entered into with mutual agreement would be a betrayal to the very essence of their relationship.

Sherlock stared with impatience into those intense liquid brown eyes now the colour of dark chocolate – he could never quite decide what colour they were, due to the fact that they changed so rapidly in pace with the owner's mood – and managed to choke out a strangled plea:

“Fuck me, Jim… Oh, Jesus Christ… I want you… inside me… **_now._** ” The last word was nothing more than a growl as he closed his eyes and threw his head back against the pillow.

Jim was not hard to ask, and with a deliberate thrust of his hips pushed all the way into Sherlock. The warmth and tightness of Sherlock enveloped him, and the sensation hit him, like a thousand needles to his entire body, like fire through his blood stream. It was the most exquisite pleasure, made all the better from hearing and feeling Sherlock enjoying it as much as he did, pushing against him to meet the thrust. Jim moved back, and pushed in again, and again, leaning on his hands on either side of Sherlock’s torso now.

“Oh God, Sherlock… Holy shit, I don’t even… You’re killing me…” was all he was able to manage, groaning and gasping as he felt Sherlock act on the only little display of power he was allowed in the situation; tightening himself around Jim’s cock.

It sent Jim into a frenzy he had hardly ever experienced before. A slave to his senses was not how he usually saw himself, but now he was unable to contain himself, and as he rested his body on top of Sherlock’s already slick, sweaty chest, he set up a pace that he knew would not last long.

Sherlock lifted his hips to meet Jim’s thrusts, positioning himself so as to make sure that Jim would be hitting the right spot. Not that he needed to worry about that, Jim was an experienced lover, and Sherlock had found, also a considerate one. One who obviously drew as much pleasure from coaxing groans of ecstasy from the other as from experiencing those sensations himself. This discovery would have stumped even Sherlock’s powers of deduction, but after getting to know the real Jim, Sherlock had learned the man was not at the core the selfish, cruel creature he sometimes liked to portray to the world.

The initial pain of penetration had faded quickly, and wave after wave of thrills and shivers travelled the length of Sherlock’s body, making him shake uncontrollably. Oh yes, Jim Moriarty was an adequate lover all right, Sherlock thought to himself as he started the climb to the final peak.

Jim’s pace grew steadily more rapid, as he attached his mouth to Sherlock’s tempting neck once again, feeling the pulse of the other man running amok under his tongue. From the groans and movements beneath him, he could tell he was hitting Sherlock’s prostate with every thrust. He almost regretted for a moment that Sherlock’s hands were tied up, because it meant Sherlock was not able to wrap them around his back, his shoulders - or even around his neck and throat, a secret desire of Jim’s, that he had yet to share with Sherlock. At the same time, it was a turn-on in itself to see how Sherlock trashed against the rope, unable to master the situation, completely at Jim’s mercy.

The end was coming rapidly for both of them now. The intense pleasure they both experienced was mirrored in their combined breathing and moaning,  mingled with the sounds of “Oh God”, “Sherlock” and “Jim”. Their bodies moved together in unison, chasing the release they both wanted and needed so desparately. 

To Jim, being in charge of the situation meant that Sherlock needed to come before he himself could let go. He reached a hand down to Sherlock’s rock hard, but at the same time silky smooth cock, helping him along to the finish.

As Sherlock felt the touch, adding to the already immense pleasure of Jim’s cock sliding in and out of him, he knew this was it. Just a few strokes of Jim’s hand and a thrust all the way to the bottom finally sent him over the edge, with animal sounds of pleasure emanating from him.

“Oh fuck, yes! Jim… Oh dear Lord, heavens above… Oh god, yes!” tumbled out of Sherlock as he fell from the highest peak, rushing down as through the air, the bliss of ecstasy making every single muscle in his body tighten and release in rapid succession, his back arching up from the bed to take Jim even deeper. Even through his hazy state of mind he could feel Jim drawing near the close as well. Sherlock somehow found the wherewithal to tighten himself around Jim again, and accompanied by a few spastic twitches inside of him, he felt the other man go over the edge.

With a shudder and a final heavy thrust, Jim pressed himself to Sherlock’s body and cried out in ecstasy against his neck and throat. "Sherlock, oh Sherlock… Fuck, Sherlock… Fuck… Fuck!” was all that was discernible from the obscene sounds the man made.

Hearing his name fall from Jim's lips with such intensity was more than enough to please Sherlock, coming down from his high a little ahead of Jim. He wished his arms were free to pull Jim closer as the orgasm shook his lover.

They both eventually stilled and lay gasping for air for a minute, none of them speaking, just relishing the closeness and the afterglow of the burning fire that had just consumed them. Jim moved first, reluctantly pulling out and reaching up to free Sherlock’s hands. Cursing a bit when he realised how Sherlock’s violent movements against the rope had made the knot tighter than he had anticipated, but finally managing to pry the knot open to release his hands.

Jim gently pulled first the one wrist, then the second, to his mouth and gingerly kissed the spots where the rope, however soft it was, had made rather deep indentations on Sherlock’s delicate skin. He wondered idly if there would be bruises, and smiled in amusement to himself, as he speculated how the detective would explain away the marks that would likely peak out from the cuffs of his shirt.

Sherlock felt a swelling in his chest by the gentleness of the affectionate gesture on Jim’s part, and looked up at the man. Jim’s usually well-ordered, slicked back hair was rumpled in a rather becoming out-of-bed look, his cheeks were reddened by exertion, his brown eyes, now a lighter shade of hazel, were boring deeply into Sherlock’s own. Sherlock found himself rendered speechless by the man’s beauty, leaving it up to Jim to break the silence.

“So, was it worth it?” Jim eventually demanded, still slightly breathless.

“What do you mean, worth it?” Sherlock asked, puzzled, not quite sure what Jim was referring to. The sex? Being tied up? Part of the reason Sherlock was so fascinated by Jim was that even though they were so similar in many ways, he never quite seemed to get a grip on what was going on in the criminal’s head at any given time.

“Blowing off the case with Lestrade and John in favour of a… hmm… little mid-day workout session with me here at the Savoy,” Jim clarified with a giggle.

Sherlock smiled now, at the memory of the text from Jim earlier today.

_The Savoy. 1 PM. Come and play. JM x._

Sherlock had responded within the minute, not even having to think twice.

He pulled Jim to his chest with slightly sore arms, wrapping them around him and curling a fist at the hair at the nape of his neck. The smaller man nestled contently against Sherlock’s chest, his head resting against the hollow of his throat, breathing in the scent of him. “Oh, you know… The case was only a six. I figured meeting you would be at least a seven," Sherlock teased nonchalantly. 

Sherlock was still surprised that he enjoyed the softness of cuddling and talking afterwards. With the few women he had ever been with before he started seeing Jim, he had always gone through with the ritual rather reluctantly, more out of obligation than of any pleasure it would bring himself.

It was different with Jim. Neither one of them ever seemed to tire of the physical closeness that had become so natural, after they had finally broken the barrier between them on the top of the roof at St. Barts, the day they had mutually decided to finish their old games and start a new one. A game that now involved secret meetings, which sometimes only meant dinner, a concert or a walk in a desolate park or other – how completely ordinary of them – and other times meant meeting at a hotel or at one of Jim’s many flats around town for a passionate physical rendezvous. Those meetings could last for hours and hours, until it became impossible for Sherlock to stay any longer, lest his absence should raise suspicion with Mrs. Hudson or John.

Sherlock knew that the secrecy required in concealing the fact that they were seeing each other, only added to the thrill for both of them. But the realization that this arrangement of theirs could not last for ever, would show in the desperation and ferociousness that sometimes came over them as their bodies joined, both of them overcome by that feeling of closeness they knew they would never find in anyone else. Better make it count, who knows for how long we will get away with it, seemed to be on both their minds, but none of them had so far broached the subject. Later, it would have to be later. There was never enough time when they were together. They were always left wanting more, the signs of a true obsession. How appropriate for two men appalled by anything ordinary! The thought floated through Sherlock’s still hazy mind, as he filed it away for later examination.   

“A seven!” Jim huffed with an air of insult in his voice. “My dear, the day that you tell me I am only a seven – and mean it – will be the last time you ever see me!” he thrilled, his Irish accent breaking through noticeably, as he raised his head to poke out his tongue at Sherlock, throwing a playful fist punch at his chest.

Sherlock felt another stab of tenderness at the sight of Jim so relaxed and playful, almost innocent. Not for the first time he found himself wondering about Jim’s background, his childhood and what route his life had taken on the road to becoming the complex, changeable and no doubt dangerous man he was today. Nevertheless, a man also capable of empathy, compassion and… yes, even something resembling love. Sherlock mulled over the contradictions that made up Jim; unpredictable, emotional and prone to dramatic displays, but still organized, methodical in all things and extremely intelligent, with an incessant need to be in control of himself and his surroundings. Another time, Sherlock thought to himself again, the puzzle of Jim Moriarty will have to wait for another time to be solved.

“Easy, pet. I was just joking, surely you know that. As always, you were a solid ten.” Sherlock laughed, amazed at how easy this was getting. Laying in bed with his former sworn enemy, making idle chit chat in the afterglow of what was admittedly amazing sex.

“Damn right! And you’d do well to remember that, darling. Or else I’ll tie you up again, and then I won’t go so easy on you,” Jim purred, his eyes bordering on coal black now, with a glint of that old danger that Sherlock had not seen for a time.

The men locked eyes, and tension started building between them again as icy blue met dark brown. Sherlock’s arms tightened around Jim’s slight frame, pulling him closer and into a furious kiss. Just as they had to break it off for air, Sherlock’s phone went off on the bed stand. He reluctantly broke the embrace to look at it.

“Damn, it’s Lestrade. Guess I’ll have to get this one, then,” he said with a voice that was a bit too husky for the DI’s benefit. Sherlock cleared his throat and took a few deep breaths before he answered, listening intently to the man at the other end of the phone.

Jim rolled onto his side, trailing a hand slowly along Sherlock’s hip in affection. As he watched the perfect creature beside him, he wondered idly when they would next have a chance to meet.

“So, looks like I have to go,” Sherlock said, as he finished the call and turned over to face Jim. “Supposedly the case has been upgraded to an eight, and they are desperate for my help,” he smirked, all smug smile at his own importance and rolling his eyes at the incompetence of the Yard.

“Until the next time then, my dear,” was Jim’s only reply, quite in understanding that business had to come first, coupled with an almost chaste kiss on the lips before Sherlock pulled away to find his clothes. “Give me a call the next time you need a ten, eh? Now go solve your eight down town with Lestrade and Johnny boy, and see if it can keep your attention the way I do.” A small, wry smile played on Jim’s lips.

“Oh, you know there is no competition. An eight barely even registers, that is nothing more than child’s play really.” Sherlock said confidently, as he pressed one final kiss to the criminal’s lips, a final look of longing back at the gorgeous man he had to leave behind as he closed the door. They did not do goodbye’s, too ordinary and predictable by far. And both knowing too well there was no telling when, or even if, they would see each other again. Better leave it unsaid, hanging in the air between them, an unspoken promise.

It was only as he was standing in the descending elevator he realized that Jim would not have known he was going down town to meet Lestrade and John. Just a manner of speaking? An educated guess? Or… something else entirely? Sherlock smiled to himself and shook his head as he thought about what he was doing. Getting involved with the world’s only consulting criminal, a dangerous man, and one intent on playing games to keep the boredom at bay at that.

“Oh yeah, I’m in over my head,” he mumbled to himself, a rare smile of delight lighting up his face as he flagged down a taxi. Sherlock had to admit to himself that he was losing control, the consequences of his and Jim’s secret relationship entirely impossible to predict. But at least life was not boring. Not anymore. He knew he was in too deep to care. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.


End file.
